The School
by brendan yo
Summary: This is pretty much a re-write of all the the Max Ride books. I really hate where Patterson has gone with the book, so hopefully I can re-write them to your all best interest. If you don't enjoy them, I apologize. I love feedback, loves.
1. The Show

**This is a Maximum Ride story, but the story takes place before the kids escape from the school. As a matter of fact, the flock never escapes from the school. They grow up there, and are experimented on, and used as means of entertainment. This is just a quick story that I'm writing to get myself out into the fanfiction world. I hope you enjoy.**

"Fang…" I said out loud, breaking the complete and terrifying silence that surrounded out invisible bodies. "you're hurting me." I said, trying to shake my wrist from his grasp, which was so uncomfortably tight that I felt my hallowed bones were concaving. He looked up at me, his purple eyes hardly visible in the dark.

"Sorry." He said lowly, trying to relax.

"It will all be alright." I said, not sure if I could even convince myself. "Nothing will hurt us. We're indo." I smirked, and he looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Indo..." I repeated, feeling slightly embarrassed, "like indestructible."

"Oh." He replied, his breathing noticeably irregular. There was a cheer from the auditorium outside, and the metal walls that surrounded us only in spirit, hiding behind the veil of black, whirred loudly, and began moaning. A crack of light appeared in front of us. I squinted, trying to focus in on the crowd, but the sunlight was to strong. I turned my head quickly, and my light brown hair covered my pale face and chocolate brown eyes. Fang stared straight forward, his grip tightening around my wrist again. This time I ignored the pain, since the fear of the crowd before me was much more frightening.

My name is Max; self allocated. The boy next to me, my only friend in this giant world, his name is Fang. I don't know why, it just is. When I think of his name, I see a big bulldog with sad eyes and a droopy mouth. When I think of Fang…well, much more than a bulldog comes to mind. His big purple eyes and dark hair. His mouth that hardly ever curls up into a smile, but when it does, it sure is a sight to see.

Those big muscles that are barely held in by his black tee.

His tall, thick legs that fill out his ripped blue jeans just perfectly.

His…oh well, 'scuse me. Let's just leave it as: He's positively beautiful.

At fifteen, neither of us have yet seen anymore of the world beside out metal barred cages, a enormous white building that is named The School, but to us, is home, and the outside stadium filled with brown, crusty grass and thousands of people calculating out flight pattern and awing at the miracle that we are.

Yeah, I said flight pattern. What makes us special enough to write a story about is the fact we have wings. Yep, big ol' birds wings and hallow bones that we can use to zip and zoom around an acre of land before being called back in to out piece of meat that is our "dinner". Well, maybe a few more than one piece of meat.

You didn't know that a bird eats twice its body weight in food every day? Well, try mixing that trait with an American teen. Talk about obesity.

The doors open a bit more, and sunlight completely floods us. Like usual, my stomach flips a bit looking at Fang, and seeing him completely illuminated in the sunlight that has broken through the dark.

You'd think I'd get over that stupid little girl thing. But I can't, and it's damn annoying. His jaw tenses, and he swallows a big gulp. I nudge him a bit on the shoulder, and he shakes his head.

"Common Flyboy, you can do it." I said jokingly, stepping out of our box. The crowd waited. Their noise only at a low rumble. I walk out a bit farther, into the middle of the field, and with each step, the crowd gets a bit more silent. By the time I'm halfway through the field, only a whisper from the crowd is hardly audible. I stand there for a few moments, and I hear Fang approaching me from behind. After a few more moments of silent, I take my black hoodie off, and I stand in front of 50,000 people in tattered jeans and a white tank. The newcomers to this show stare at me with a puzzled look on their face, and I smirk, trying to hide my overwhelming feeling to cry and fly away. Well, try and fly away before getting electrocuted and spiral toward the ground 10,000 feet in the air to a death that ends with me in a puddle of feathers and kid parts.

As the crowd comes to a complete hushed state, enough to hear the man in the fourth row clear his throat after recovering from a lung-cancer induced coughing fit, I release my wings from behind my back with a snap, and the pale tan, freckled feathers that make up my 13 foot wingspan ruffle and instantly begin warming in the sun make the crowd cheer and gasp out of pure joy. Yeah, soak it up people, one day I'll come back for all of you.

Another roar breaks out, which means Fangs just let out his 14 foot wingspan of opaque jet black feathers, and the screams from the girls around mean he's going about this one shirtless. Having a considerably heightened sense of hearing, I can clearly discern which girls are blabbing most excessively about Fang and his "super hot body." I'll to accidentally drop my shoe as I fly innocently over their heads…or maybe a rock.

And we jump up, our wings catching a nice current, and a heavy wing beat.

We were off. This is our lives.

…This is our life?


	2. The School

**This chapters told from Fang's point of view. The chapters will most likely alternate between the two, but who knows? I'm unpredictable. I'll let you all know exactly who's narrating each chapter though. Have no fear, friends. **

It was always weird, in a weird way, to be flying around all these people. My wings were mine, and with all these people examining me so closely, my _wings _so closely, all those disorienting flashes of varying colors, I felt exposed.

As if I was flying around with my bird-kid junk hanging out everywhere.

But nonetheless I kept on flying. Occasionally glancing at Max, which I have to teach myself to refrain from doing, 'cause eventually, I WILL accidentally take one of these spectators heads with me.

Boy, was she pretty.

"Whoa." I said lowly, arching my back just enough to avoid left foot contact with a head of balding gray hair. Applause and oo's from the crowd below me erupted because of my almost fatal clash.

Boy, am I smooth.

An hour later, the sky turned a light tint of purple, and the blazing ball of orange in the sky began to sink below the horizon line: the end of another marvelous day.

My eyes caught Max's, she was breathing a bit heavily, but she still looked beautiful. She gave me a smile, and waved at the crowd, turned to me, waved at me, arm and hand hovering above her head of silky brown hair, and ran toward me. When she was close enough, her face dropped to an expression that said.

'Let's get the fuck out of here.' I nodded in agreement and wrapped my left arm around her right. I caught an odd movement from her in the corner of my eye, but when I looked at her, her gaze was fixated on our box that lay just ahead. The crowd still cheering, and my back still sweating, Max began to sob, which she does so every now and then. But she doesn't let me acknowledge her, otherwise she'd run away and I wouldn't see her again for the next few hours, if not the rest of the day.

Her plain white tee fitted her so nicely, and her hair looked so beautiful being caught up in the wind for an hour. Max gains beauty the more she goes. It's just her thing.

Her arm was so petite against mine, it felt so right.

And so badly I wanted to console her when my peripherals picked up on the wet spots that formed on her tee shirt. I don't know who was hurting more. Max's breaking wings, or my breaking heart.

Boy, am I corny.

We walked into the box; I turned around one last time, the sun's rays making its last attempt to reach over the horizon. My bare chest shining for only a few minutes before the light was gone, and half the crowd was already gone. Gone home, to their families... something I'll never have the privilege of doing. Now I wanted to cry. But I wasn't really sure how, so I kept silent. As the doors closed, and all light was relinquished from our eyes, the mechanics that surrounded us whirred and buzzed with such a familiar sound. Three minutes later, the whirring stopped and the doors opened once again on the other side of the box. Before us a white room filled with white coats and metal tools that were soon to be inside of my body. Syringes, IV's, and some odd mechanism that connected to my wings and made them feel all tingly.

As we were escorted out by some burly guards, who could easily be mistaken for a recombinant DNA project with bear DNA, Max and I began to be pulled apart. She continued to try and stifle her sobs, but they were much too obvious, her pain clearly unbearable today. As the bearman tugged on my arm, I leaned over and laid my mouth on top of Max's head, and I closed my eyes, smelling her clean hair. She smelt like Max.

I loved Max.

And then we were separated, and Max still refused to make eye contact with me. I watched her be taken away by bearman the second, and she straightened her shaking shoulders as best she could. They turned into the door on their left, and the door closed with a muffled bang. The door number read 22. I shivered, but I did not cry.

I won't cry.

Back in my...cage... the bearman locked the doors behind me which a flashy card that dangled off the piece of meat that he considered his neck. More like a fleshy tree stump. And I walked around my 10 by 15 feet cage with an 8 foot ceiling. It was utterly nerve wrecking to sit there, confined in a cage that consumes less space that a small chicken shed, when I'm genetically programmed to be flying close to the troposphere of the world's atmosphere. I gazed around at the other experiments. One boy sat in a cage shaped like a funnel. His DNA was altered to give him a less dense form. Instead, he randomly breaks down into a puddle of...melted boy. Upon that, he would drain into somewhere down under the hole in his cage, where he was somehow... un-melted into boy form.

I call him frosty.

Other experiments surrounded me, and I wondered why I didn't turn out like them. One boy had the head of a fish, and was constantly dunking himself into water to stay alive. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to swim well, or stay under long enough before his body absorbed too much water, and he would be reduced to a prune.

I sighed at the others, retreating to the corner of my cage. I thought I heard Max scream, but I knew it was just my brain messing with me.

_Don't worry Fang, I'm coming for you soon. _Said the voice of a little girl.

What the hell? That was definitely not my brain messing with me. I looked up and down, stupidly enough, in my 8 foot high cage with solid metal roof and flooring. Left and right, everywhere, but no little person stood anywhere close to me.

"Hello?" I asked to the surrounding nothing. An experiment a few cages away in the row adjacent to me looked at me with a curious look on his face. Well, on his eyes. He had no mouth, nose or ears. I shivered, and went back to the corner.

_I'm coming soon Fang._

That was the only phrase that repeated in my head for the rest of the night, and I couldn't distinguish whether it was real or me finally becoming just another failed experiment.

Boy, am I crazy.


End file.
